Don't Make Me Say Goodbye
by A Whisper Of Grace
Summary: After taking the memory potion, the group is locked in the Library to wait it out until it takes effect. Quentin finally has time to feel his frustration that Eliot foiled his plan.


With very little ceremony, the group was taken to the Library and locked in a suite of rooms as they waited for their memories to fade away. There were a few bedrooms and bathrooms leading off from the common area but they had gathered there together in unspoken agreement, not wanting to be apart from each other for as long as they could. They'd all taken the potion Dean Fogg had supplied, given no real other choice in the matter. At some point, the memories of their new lives would start to feel more real than their true ones. They would be separated before then in order to let the new personas take proper hold when the time came, but for now they were given a few hours together to say goodbye. As if it was a gift. As if they should tell the Library 'thank you'.

Quentin wasn't really in the mind to be grateful to anybody, right now.

Alice had been taken separately from the rest of them, and though he'd raged against Fogg when they were locked up, and pounded against the door since then, they were being unrelenting in their refusal to let them see her. _Refusal_ – they hadn't even acknowledged his demand, aside from Fogg's lacklustre explanation that she was a prisoner of the Library now, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. " _Be grateful for the fresh start they're allowing you."_

 _Thank you thank you fuck you FUCK YOU._

Feeling his frustration and anger growing stronger, he gave himself a mental shake and tried to focus on the quiet conversation happening around him. Penny was listening attentively as Julia told the two of them about what had happened between when she'd left them to when she'd returned just in time to recreate the keys. Despite her unwavering confidence that she'd made the right decision, she seemed a little shaken up and a little lost at the reality of being without magic once more, and he couldn't blame her, not with the type of power she'd given up.

Give it a few hours, and they wouldn't remember their own names, let alone the thrill of magic and the things they could do with it. Quentin glanced across the room to the hourglass that hung above the door, measuring the amount of time they had before they would be taken to their new lives. He assumed they'd be dropped in a bed somewhere and wake up without any knowledge of who they'd been or what they'd done or who they loved.

About a quarter of the sand had passed through the glass. Swallowing down the lump in his throat at the idea of that time running out, he dropped his gaze, and his eyes landed instead on Eliot. As though he'd felt his eyes on him, he looked up mid conversation with Margo and smiled faintly. Quentin's answering smile was automatic but it froze in place when his mind turned to what had happened in the castle. _He really had no regrets about usurping his plan, did he?_

There had been too much going on at the time to deal with anything other than the immediate problem after Eliot had shot the Monster, but the more time that passed, the more his frustration grew. Maybe if they weren't distracted by that, they'd have been more prepared for Alice's betrayal. And if they hadn't been thrown by that, they might have been more prepared for the siphon, or Julia's magic could have been used against it instead of having to make new keys, or…

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Eliot took a long draught from his flask before pressing it into Margo's hand and then stalking across the room. Quentin turned back to the others, and a moment later felt Eliot's arm wrap around his shoulders, his hand settling on one and squeezing it gently. "Hey," he said softly in his ear, ignoring the others. His cheek rested against the side of Quentin's head, and he could feel his chest moving against his back with every breath.

 _So he can tell I'm upset with him_ , Quentin thought, not so easily bought by the easy affection despite how much it usually warmed him. "Hey," he replied, his voice flat, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his shoulders stiff. He didn't need Eliot placating him, and he wasn't going to have this conversation right now.

Okay, so maybe he _did_ want to have this conversation.

Shucking his arm from around his shoulders, he grabbed Eliot's hand and pulled him across to one of the bedrooms off the main room. Eliot sighed heavily but Quentin ignored it – if he didn't want to deal with this, he shouldn't have come over. Or, he shouldn't have done it in the damn first place.

("What's that about?" Penny asked.

"Oh, honey," Margo said. "Let them have their lover's quarrel –")

Closing the door on the others a little harder than he'd intended to, Quentin turned to Eliot, intending to vent all of the frustration he'd bottled inside him since Eliot had taken the shot at the Monster, but before he could he found himself pressed back against the door, a warm mouth closing over his and taking his breath away. Eliot's hands cupped his face, his fingers sliding into his hair, and it felt so good that for a moment he forgot why they were here. For a moment.

Tugging Eliot's hands away, he shouldered out of his embrace. "Jesus Christ, Eliot," he groaned, taking a good few steps into the room to put some space between them.

"So you weren't leading me away to get frisky?"

Quentin turned to see him raising his eyebrows suggestively. He rolled his eyes, refusing to be distracted. "What the fuck were you thinking? We had a plan!"

Clenching his jaw, Eliot stepped toward him. "No. _You_ had a plan. Except it wasn't even a plan, it was just some kind of martyr bullshit." He lifted his chin, throwing back his shoulders, and Quentin was surprised to see that Eliot's anger might rival his own. "I wasn't going to let that happen," he said simply.

"How is this different from when you became High King of Fillory?"

He scoffed. "That is not the same thing. At all. I knew you'd come back to me, and in the meantime I wasn't alone. I had Fen, and a magical goddamned country to keep me busy. You," he said, pointing at him and taking a step closer, "would have had eternity with nothing more than a monster with a play date fetish, who had _already killed everything else it was trapped with."_

"It was my choice."

"It was a stupid choice," Eliot said bluntly. "You were so concerned with becoming a hero…" His face softened. "Don't you get it? We're already heroes. Or none of us are."

Just like that, he felt the fight start to seep out of him. "How is this being a hero?" he asked helplessly. "We failed. The Library has control of all of the magic, and we're all going to be…"

 _Separated._ It hit him, then, with the full force of the fact, that he wasn't going to see any of his friends again. Wouldn't even remember them. All of his anger fled, making him face all of the fear and loss and pain that he'd been trying to ignore.

Eliot's hand settled on his cheek, and Quentin blinked up at him, a little surprised to see him so close, his eyes full of sadness and certainty. "But you'll be free," he said simply, the corner of his mouth lifting into what was not quite a smile.

"But we won't –" _be together._ Cutting himself off, he closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Eliot firmly on the mouth. Fisting his hands in the front of his shirt, he held Eliot close as he tried to take everything of this moment as he could. Feeling overwhelmed and heartsore and breathless, he broke away after a few moments, resting his forehead against his.

"I know," Eliot said quietly, leaning down to kiss him gently, once, twice, three times. "So do you really want to waste our last hours together arguing or will you kiss me until you're seared into my brain? Or whatever."

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but Quentin saw right through it. It was okay, though – he needed this too. Curling his hand around the back of Eliot's neck, he pressed his mouth firmly against his, winning a satisfied sigh and then a small noise of interest as he pulled him close. Eliot leaned in willingly, forcing Quentin's lips apart with his own, and before long they were clinging to each other, desperate to take in every little moment from each other while they still could.

 _This can't be the end._

But there was no way out.

At some point the needy, bruising kisses calmed into a slow, careful memorising of each other, and eventually they stopped to breathe. Neither of them was quite ready to let go. His arms tightening around Eliot's waist, he pressed his face against his neck, the soft skin warm against his cheek. Eliot's grip tightened around him as well, and he felt it in his bones when he let out a long breath.

"I love you," Quentin said after a few minutes, the words falling from his lips onto Eliot's skin before he could really consider them, and once they were out he had no desire at all to take them back. Anyway, he meant them. Aside from a few decades in another time, their lives had been pulled in different directions, but he wasn't going to let him go without saying it. "I just need you to know that."

"Oh, Q," Eliot sighed, turning his head to press his lips into his hair. "I know. Of course I know. I love you too. If there's a way, we'll find it. I'll find you."


End file.
